Instead of Shopping
by ruinamlug
Summary: The doctor does in fact need a new pair of shoes. Where is he going to get them? Sligth Ten/Rose


**Disclaimer**: None of this belongs to me. It started as a writing exercise and turned into a Doctor Who fic.

**Instead of shopping**

"Excuse me?" The Doctor stood much too close to the stranger, and when the man turned, startled, at the sound of his voice, their hands grazed each others. He almost dropped the bag of freshly cut chips he had just bought. Which would have been a small tragedy in his mind. After much time and effort, he had finally managed to perfectly balance the salt/vinegar ratio to Rose's tastes and didn't want to start anew with a new batch.

The man took a long step backwards, before replying.

"Yes?"

"I love your shoes." He pointed to the bright yellow galoshes. They had small splash pattern created by mud as if their owner had taken a gleeful jump in a puddle then purposely let them bake in the sun.

"My shoes?" The man sounded perplexed and looked down at his feet. The expression on his face seemed to convey that this was the first time he had seen them. "What about my shoes?"

He had bought them a long time ago on a whim, at least five years or so, back when he tried to capture and hold on to his fading youth, figuring that some sign of frivolousness would remind him of his childhood. It had failed. He was still the same slightly balding forty-five year with an average job, but now wearing loud yellow shoes.

"They're the loveliest I've ever seen! And trust me, I've seen a lot. I was once visiting this bazaar where the merchant had an entire stall filled with gold encrusted boots. Of course, on his planet gold was as inexpensive as cotton, nice cotton mind you. The good kind. I would have gotten a pair, but there was none in my size that day. I have fickle feet."

"Fickle? Feet?" The stranger was obviously fighting an urge to back away from the insane man before him, but his deeply ingrained sense of politeness kept him from being anything other then docile. "I'm sorry. I don't follow."

"My feet sometimes change sizes in this body. Not by much, that would be a bad sign, but by half a size or so. I never understood why. Maybe because of all the running I do. That's what Rose says. Do you run?"

The doctor wiggling his toes, smiled broadly. That was when the stranger noticed that his feet were bare. This struck him as sinister.

"What happened to your shoes?"

"What about my shoes? My shoes are..." He finally looked down at his feet. "Ooooh right... that would explain the breeze. I must have forgotten to put them on this morning. I wasn't expecting a stroll today. Can I borrow yours?"

"You want my shoes?" He was suddenly struck with the idea that he was being mugged, that this babbling crazy man was going to rob him. He really wished that he hadn't activated his new credit card that morning. He hadn't even had the chance to use it yet.

"Well they are gorgeous. All shiny and yellow. Could use a wash though. I'll do that. As a favor. I'll give them back as soon as I get back to TARDIS and put on my own. Give me your address and I'll know exactly where to find you."

Spooked, the man felt obligated to remove his footwear, and rigidly handed the pair over.

"Hold this." He handed the bag of piping hot chips over, mindful not to drop a single one onto the ground, before eagerly taking the shoes. He rubbed a thumb over the rubber sole. Then slipped them on. "Perfect. I do believe we have the exact same size. So where should I bring them back?"

Now barefoot, the man finally decided that in the interest of both his safety and sanity, he would need to leave. Accidentally spilling hot grease and salt on his hands, he brusquely handed the chips back with a bitten back yelp.

"Take the chips, take the shoes. I'm going!" And with that, he started a frantic trek back to the office, trying to figure out if he had just been mugged or had just committed some twisted act of generosity.

"Your hand!"

"I don't care!"

The Doctor watched as the stranger nearly tripped in his hurry to get away. He snagged a stray chip that was leaning on the lapel of his pinstriped suit, bit into it enjoying the hot crispy salt taste, before heading back to his ship.

"Weird little man."

Back at the TARDIS, Rose had been enjoying a strong cup of sugary tea and some vaguely erotic novel she had picked up in some backwards planet that glorified everything that involved the color purple, including purple prose. She had sent the Doctor out to get chips an hour ago, and knowing his track record for getting in trouble in even the most inconspicuous situations, was starting to get worried.

She was about to get up from her comfortable nest to search for him when the doors opened and in flew the Doctor, the largest grin on his face.

"Look at my new shoes!"

He lifted a foot proudly, hopping towards her,

"Where did you get those?" She scrunched her face in distaste, raising from the couch she had been sprawled on. She circled the Doctor and stared pointedly at the yellow rubber shoes. She had seriously never seen such ugly footwear on anybody older then five. She couldn't believe that anybody in the entire history of humanity would willingly design and make such monstrocities.

"You don't like them?" He looked vaguely hurt. "They were a gift, and see, they squeak if I rub them." He franticly rubbed the sole of his left foot on the toes of the right. "Isn't that neat?"

Unwilling to tell him the truth and risk of hurting him, she nodded. then Kissing him on the cheek, she took the chips, headed to the kitchen with a shake of her head.

As strange as he was, he was still her Doctor.


End file.
